


The Way To A Man's Heart

by Mab (Mab_Browne)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Community: sentinel_thurs, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1664009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mab_Browne/pseuds/Mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair causes a minor domestic disaster in the loft. Set shortly after the episode The Debt.</p><p>Written for Sentinel Thursday challenge #501.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way To A Man's Heart

According to the old saying, the way to a man's heart was through his stomach, and Blair didn't know if his current intention was either more, or less, ambitious. The way to a man's company, to a man's home and all the useful observations that Blair could make of Jim Ellison in his native environment, was hopefully via the ribs that he was baking right now in Jim's kitchen.

"One week, my ass," he said quietly, and inhaled before he put the pan back in the oven. Oh yeah - Blair and Aunt Marie might be honorary relatives, but she had certainly entrusted him with a kick-ass recipe. Nearly perfectly done, and when Jim was full of meat and sauce then Blair would see about extending his tenure. So to speak.

He turned aside to his laptop on the table and was fully involved in his notes when something intruded on his awareness. A smell, not a good one. He turned to the stove.

"Holy shit!"

Blair leaped from his chair and in slow-motion speed dashed to the stove, where the pot mitt and a nearby dish towel flamed alongside the oven door. "Holy shit!" he repeated, gripping an as yet intact corner of the dish towel with his fingers and flicking the burning mess from the stove top to the floor. He stomped with desperate fury and sighed in relief at his victory when the flames went out and stayed out.

Blair grabbed the biggest of Jim's pans, filled it with water, and dumped the still smouldering mitt and towel inside and carried it out to the balcony. The wind blew a drizzle of rain onto his skin, and the freshness of the outside air counterpointed the stink of burning from inside. Blair took a deep breath, trying to clear some of the adrenalin, and then reconsidered his 'victory'. The smell of ribs was overlaid with charred cloth. There was a fine layer of ash and smut over the top of Jim's stove and down some of the front, and one of the burner knobs was notably deformed. The final horror was a black scorch mark on Jim's pristine hardwood floor.

Blair swallowed. "Oh, I am so dead." He tried a few more deep breaths. Larry was a dumb animal, and if he trashed Jim's home, well Larry was only ever a temporary encumbrance. Blair had intended being just a little more long-term.

He hurried to the phone and picked it up with a suddenly sweaty hand. He hadn't known Jim that long, but the guy could be surprisingly laid back - and when he wasn't, it often seemed to be an intense but short explosion. If Blair could call him and break the bad news, the initial force would be dissipated on Jim's surroundings, and possibly the unsuspecting drive-time commuters of Cascade, and when Jim reached home he might not immediately throw Blair Sandburg's careless ass out the door.

"Come on, come on," he muttered, but there was no answer. "Damn it, damn it. Blair, why are you so stupid?"

He threw open all the doors and windows. Clean, _cold_ air flowed through the loft. So much for the cosy chat Blair had planned with a happily replete sentinel. He charged over to the stove and turned it off - just a precaution. The ribs would be okay. That part of the grand design should be salvageable. With a sigh, he began wiping down the black marks on Jim's kitchen surfaces.

He couldn't judge how bad the damage still smelled with a snoot full of charred wood and hopefully still edible ribs, so he went out to the balcony, just in time to see Jim drive up. "Bold and resolute, man, bold and resolute," he told himself, and marched down the stairs to the entrance foyer.

Poking his head around the doorway, he saw Jim Ellison, tall and handsome and probably at least as delicious as honorary Aunt Marie's special rib recipe. Not the time, he thought. Contrary to what some people might think, Blair Sandburg was capable of setting priorities that were more important than the demands of his dick.

"Hey, Jim," he called.

One straight, dark eyebrow lifted. "What are you doing down here, Sandburg? Bringing me my pipe and slippers?" Blair winced but hid it. Little woman jokes were not on his agenda. 

"Not quite. More like a confession."

Jim stepped through the door as Blair backed inside. "A confession. What? I thought that you sent Larry back to the labs?" He was still joking, and then his face changed, and he lifted his head and sniffed. "How about you save the confession while I check out the damage for myself," he said, and stalked up the stairs, long legs taking them two at time, while Blair powered along behind him, way too distressed to appreciate the view.

"It's really very minor, man, and of course, I'll be more than willing to contribute to the cost of repairs. I mean, I won't need to do more than contribute, because you do have insurance, don't you? Hey, Jim you do have insurance. I'm sure you said you have insurance when we were cleaning up after Larry..." Blair's voice trailed away. Associating himself with another hairy, disaster prone primate might not be such a good idea.

Jim walked through the door and stopped short. Blair had been congratulating himself that it really wasn't so bad. He'd cleaned up the worst of it, the place was aired, okay there was that scorch mark on the floor.... His internal congratulations withered away. Jim was a sentinel and particular about his space, and Blair felt as guilty as if Jim had come home to massed fire fighters. The savoury scent of the ribs mocked him.

Jim surveyed the scene of the crime. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose; it was a habit that Blair had noted, and had sincerely hoped would not be applied to anything that he was responsible for. Life dashed your hopes all too often.

"So," Jim said, clearly drawing on reserves of patience. "Should I call you Calamity Blair?"

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry, really I am, but you don't think that calling this a calamity is a touch exaggerated?"

Jim turned and stared down at Blair, brows quizzically raised.

"Look, Jim, it was an accident. It won't happen again-"

"Oh, that's for sure," Jim growled.

"The food is fine. And you must be hungry," Blair said hurriedly. "How about some ribs - and there's bread and salad to go with it."

Jim sneezed. "I'd say that we should open the windows but you've got that covered." He sat on the couch, ostentatiously not taking off his jacket. "Well, you nearly burned my place down, after all that I think I deserve some ribs. They smell okay," he granted.

Blair dished the food, and they sat down to eat. The ribs were delicious - glazed, tender, moist. Such a shame that Blair didn't have much appetite. Jim ate but Blair could tell that it was because he was hungry, not because his thoughts were turning to how great it would be to have someone who could produce this delicious meal hanging around the loft.

Jim wiped his fingers and his mouth and then said, "I'm going to shut the windows. I figure this is as aired as it's going to get in here."

Blair gestured in permission that turned into an apologetic finger waggle because Jim, of course, didn't actually need Blair Sandburg's permission to do anything in his own home. Jim rose, and so did Blair, stacking the plates and carrying them to the counter-top by the sink. He was industriously scraping the plates and wrapping the bones in a sheet of newspaper when Jim appeared beside him. He moved quietly for a big man, and Blair managed, just, not to show that he was startled.

Jim leaned against the counter. His arms were crossed, and those long legs were well displayed, and there was a light in his eyes that Blair wasn't quite sure of. "You know, Sandburg, I'm starting to see a pattern of you cooking meals when you want to butter me up." 

A plate slipped slightly in Blair's grasp but was rescued. "Hey, I just felt like ribs. I didn't actually know that I was going to set your kitchen on fire."

Jim nodded sagely and then said, "And the fact that you're three days over your 'one week, man' would have nothing to do with anything?"

Blair considered possibilities and summoned a gauchely frank 'you got me,' look. "The way I saw it, it couldn't do any harm. But that was just the starter to how things would work better with both of us available to each other." That was, maybe, too gauche and frank, and definitely unplanned. Jim's face remained in its pleasant state of 'tell me more', but the light in his eyes grew a little brighter and more clearly defined, and it was definitely amusement.

"I don't know, Sandburg.... Is this, like, a typical day for you?"

Blair yelped with unexpected laughter. "Oh, man, that is totally unfair, and absolutely an exaggeration."

Jim grinned. "Between you and Larry's attempts to redecorate? I'm not so sure." Jim Ellison was having way too much fun here, and at Blair's expense; but Blair could work with that. He knew exasperated amusement between friends, and he knew spite and impatience with an unwanted guest. Jim's blue eyes were warm and his indisputably impressive body was relaxed.

Blair smiled, careful not to be too smug. "Look, what about a trial period? Call it a month-"

"Just one month?" Jim asked with not so innocent emphasis. "That would make sure that you were around to help me fix this floor, anyway. Dust. Chemicals. Someone with sensitive sentinel senses is probably going to need a lot of help dealing with this little mess here."

Oh yes, way too much fun, and Blair dipped his head to pay attention to the clean up.

"And," Jim continued ruthlessly, "a celebratory meal afterwards. Those ribs weren't bad."

Blair looked up to meet Jim's eyes. It was hard to maintain a put upon expression when he was faced with Jim being both gracious and mischievous. There was a glow in Blair's chest, something warm and uplifting together.

"Well, hey," he said, spreading his hands, "my whole point was that I have things to offer."

Jim pushed himself off the counter, and finally deigned to shed his jacket. "I'm getting that impression," was all he said, before turning to the fridge and taking out two beers.


End file.
